


To Leave, To Be Left Behind

by tmariea (OccasionalArtist)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, contemplation of mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalArtist/pseuds/tmariea
Summary: The night before the group travels to Camlann for the final confrontation, they stop in Ladylake for some final rest.  Sorey finds himself unable to sleep and drawn to the Sanctuary, where he is confronted with the reality of what he must do.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	To Leave, To Be Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello long time no see! I'm getting around to posting a few zine pieces. This one was written for Eternal Dream: A Tales of Zestiria Fanzine. Please enjoy the angst.

In the early hours of the morning, with the sunlight only beginning to crest the lowest windowsills, the Ladylake Sanctuary was empty. In the few times Sorey had been back since the Sacred Blade Festival, it had not struck him as a busy place. He had seen a handful of worshipers or members of the clergy when he found himself in the towering room before, but not today. It was as barren of life as the ruins he and Mikleo so loved to explore and just as silent, but it felt even quieter still without the familiar warm thrum of Gramps’ domain that reached even the furthest depths of Mabinogio.

The door creaked as Sorey let it swing closed behind him, and his boots sounded with each step on the stone floor. There was something prayerful to the silence, and also something very much alone.

He walked down the central aisle marked out with intricately designed tile, a procession of one. At the end were the steps, up to the altar with its massive ritual brazier, and before it the stone that once housed the Sacred Blade. He ascended to one side, past the place where Lailah rested for time unknown. She must know the emptiness of this room more intimately than anyone.

He stopped before the brazier. A faint smell of sulfur hung in the air just above it, and a scattering of ash dusted the edge. Sorey ran a bare finger through the ash, leaving a line cut down the middle. He smiled; Lailah had been the one who suggested stopping in Ladylake for the night to get some rest, and then refused to back down when he wanted to push through to Elysia and Camlann.

It had been a good idea, in theory. In reality, Sorey had slept restlessly, only to wake before dawn and sneak out into the city. That was something in and of itself; for Sorey to be awake before Mikleo was a rare occurrence. He had wandered the streets in the fading starlight until he ended up here.

Sorey turned away from the brazier to face the room again, and slumped down to the floor, his back pressed against the stone behind him. There was only slightly more light than shadow where he looked out over the Sanctuary now. It illuminated the center of the room while leaving corners and recesses in a darkness harder for its contrast. A perfect beam of light, swirling thick with dust motes, fell onto the sacred blade’s altar, like a drawing in a book of a momentous instant in history.

How long had it really been since the day he took up the blade? They were in such constant motion that it had been hard to keep track. A few months in traversing the continent and back, but not much more. So abrupt, both the taking up of this mantle, and its sudden imminent close.

An answer, and a thousand more questions to match.

One final action, and then a thousand years perhaps in slumber.

Perhaps never to awake.

He knew with an impending finality that after this day he would not see Rose or Alisha again. He would not see the world as he knew it again. Mikleo and Gramps and everyone from the village, Lailah and Edna and Zaveid, they hung before his eyes as a flash of possibility. And then they were fading away as he squinted in the brightening light, blurring the columns and banners before him.

Sorey struggled to breathe past the fear clogging in his throat, the air pulling thickly into his lungs in shallow gasps that echoed in the cavernous space around him. He was going to die. He was going to die. The nobility of the sacrifice suddenly paled beneath the onslaught of everyone he’d be leaving behind, everything he’d be leaving undone.

The muscles of his legs tightened unbearably, a coil of frantic energy that screamed to be released, to run. It matched the thunderous beat of his heart beneath his palm. His fingers scrabbled against chest as if to squeeze his heart until it would slow, clenching into the fabric of his shirt, damp and clammy with sweat.

And yet part of his mind told him he would still do it, because it needed to be done. The world would be left for the better. He would be left behind.

Sorey pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to curl inward; there was nothing else he could do, not with this crushing weight around him. It was as if the Sanctuary was collapsing on top of him, stones burying him deep without ever touching. An impossible pressure and in juxtaposition a yawning emptiness so powerful it numbed his skin.

Somewhere in the distance, so far it must be entirely separate from him, was the sound of stone scraping on stone, and then a heavy door falling shut.

“Sorey, there you are! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been…”

The words cut off as Sorey barely lifted his head to meet Mikleo’s violet eyes, which had been shining with annoyance. He let his head fall back to his knees as footsteps rang throughout the hallway, fast. They stopped, and from just before him came a rustle of fabric. At this distance there would be no way Mikleo couldn’t hear Sorey’s labored breathing, so shallow it was as if he was drowning on dry land.

“What happened?” Mikleo asked. 

A blue light bloomed at the corners of Sorey’s vision. His shoulders tightened without his permission, his back pressing further into the stone behind him until he could feel each carved shape.

“Okay,” Mikleo said slowly as if he was buying time for what to try next, and sat back on his heels. “Okay. Can you try to breathe with me?” He inhaled audibly through his nose, a slow draw in, and then an even release through his mouth.

Sorey tried. He tried to hold the next frantic gasp before it could escape him again. It caught in his throat and fled. He shook his head and said, “I can’t, I can’t,” but it came out more like a sob.

“I know you can. I know you’re scared, but you’ll get through this. I’ll be right here next to you. It will be okay.”

Mikleo reached out a hand, slowly moving it closer. Sorey could see its approach, knew this touch, knew he was safe as fingers brushed against his shirt and then moved more confidently to clasp his shoulder.

Sorey closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to only feel the familiar weight. It moved with him, following the stilted rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. He let it hold him steady as he tried one more time to breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but slower. One breath in, then two, ten, fifteen. Sorey tried to keep count, to occupy his mind with different things. To tell himself that Mikleo was here, that he was not alone.

As Sorey began to calm, he watched as Mikleo shifted until they were both sitting with their backs to the brazier, side-by-side. Mikleo’s hand dropped from his shoulder down to Sorey’s knee. Sorey did not flinch at this touch either, and was grateful for the continued reminder of Mikleo’s presence.

Moments passed as Sorey’s breathing became steady. What was left was still the race of his heart and the tension in his limbs, but that was beginning to fade as well.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Mikleo said. His voice was as calm and casual as if they were sitting near the fire in Sorey’s house, discussing a book or perhaps the chores they would need to do the next day. It helped to settle Sorey’s heart further. “Any normal person would be overwhelmed by what we’ve done and seen. We’ve learned a lot about ourselves and the world, not all of it things we maybe wanted to know.”

Sorey shook his head; he could manage that much. That felt comfortable enough to venture tipping his head to one side and then the other, pulling against the tension that had knotted his neck.

“We had each other, and everyone through it all though, right?” Mikleo continued, and Sorey nodded this time. “So we’ll still be here when it’s all done. I’m not going anywhere, Sorey.” He said it with such surety, as if by sheer force of will he could power through all the unknowns they were about to walk into and come out on the other side just the way he wanted to.

Sorey believed him. If anyone could make this happen through sheer stubbornness, it was Mikleo. That was enough for Sorey to let go of the last knot in his chest with a large breath out, and reply, “Yeah.”

When they fell into silence this time, it no longer bore a heavy weight. Mikleo’s presence, his confidence, his calm, it filled all the spaces that before had been lacking.

“Do you know if a seraph could cast a domain without doing so intentionally?” Sorey asked after a moment. He grimaced at the rough sound of his own voice but let it pass.

Mikleo’s brow furrowed with thought. “I’m not sure. Lailah might know more though. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Somewhere behind them, in the depths of the sanctuary, they could hear a door open and close. Mikleo glanced behind them, and then withdrew his hand from Sorey’s knee so he could balance as he stood. He offered the hand back down. “Do you want to head out, before someone finds you here and starts asking questions?”

“Sounds good,” Sorey replied, and reached up to let Mikleo drag him to his feet. Together they walked back down the stairs and across the room, and finally back out into Ladylake. Behind them, the light from the windows had moved away from the altar of the Sacred Blade. The sanctuary stood silent once more, waiting for the next set of footsteps to cross its threshold.


End file.
